


A Very Pratty Christmas

by EvilEd



Series: He Was My Best Mate [1]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Christmas fic, Kid Fic, No pairings - Freeform, technically rivyan but they're kids so no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEd/pseuds/EvilEd
Summary: Set in 1971, Vyvyan spends Christmas Eve with Rick's family, and hatches a plan to catch the fat bastard in red.
Series: He Was My Best Mate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580122
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	A Very Pratty Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Just a short little fic about Vyv spending Christmas at Rick's when they were kids. Technically a Drop Dead Frederick spin-off, but you don't need to have read it to follow the plot. Also, this work has been quickly edited, but only by me, so it's probably rife with typos. Sorry!

“I’m  _ bored _ .” Rick yawned as he rolled onto his stomach and gazed up at the Christmas tree, before eliciting one of his very best melodramatic sighs. 

“So shut up and go to sleep!” Vyv snapped. He continued to pace up and down the drawing-room, occasionally pausing to part the heavy draperies and peer outside. He had a slingshot in one pocket, a bag of ball bearings in the other, and a cricket bat hooked on his shoulder, and he was going to bring down the fat man come hell or high water. 

Rick, entirely unphased by his friend’s violent outburst, slurped at the layer of melted marshmallows on top of his hot chocolate and went back to counting Christmas lights. He was still dressed in the stupid, toffy sailor suit he’d worn to the Nutcracker earlier that day, complimented by ridiculous Santa hat that was far too big for him. As he sat under the tree and started to dose, it began to slip down past his ears and over his eyes. Vyvyan, who wore jeans and a t-shirt  _ anywhere _ , including the bloody Nutcracker ballet, took a mouthful of his own hot chocolate and continued to pace. 

Aside from the two boys in the drawing-room, the Pratt house was eerily quiet. As far as either of Rick’s parents were concerned, he and Vyvyan were still tucked up in bed - warm and cosy and fast asleep. And they’d certainly  _ pretended _ to be asleep at nine o’clock, when Mrs Pratt came in to tell them it was time for lights out. They’d looked like such good boys, too, buried under the covers in Rick’s plush double bed with the fancy canopy and aeroplane printed sheets. In fact, Mrs Pratt had even  _ remarked _ upon how angelic the boys looked curled up in the blankets, their heads at opposite ends of the bed with Vyvyan’s feet in Rick’s face. She kissed them both on the forehead, tousled their hair, and wandered if Vyvyan’s no-good mother would make a fuss of the poor boy this Christmas - or even take the time to find out where he was staying. Somehow, she doubted it. He’d been sleeping in Rick’s room for the better part of a week. 

But as soon as she shut the door on her boys, smiling brightly as she retreated to her bedroom, they were up in a flash. Still dressed in their day clothes, loaded down with food and drink and armed with a meticulously calculated plan, they bolted back downstairs and set up camp in front of the television. 

Rick’s interest in abducting father Christmas was minimal at best, motivated entirely a desire to be involved in one of Vyvyan’s schemes, - and to avoid being on the receiving end of his wrath.

But Vyvyan’s plot was entirely revenge based, spurred on by seven years of crap Christmases with no tree and no presents, and no turkey dinner. Because If the fat prick was supposed to give presents to  _ all _ the boys and girls in the whole entire world, why not him? Alright, so what he hadn’t necessarily been very good this year? Or the year before that, for that matter. ...And certainly not the year before  _ that _ . But what about when he was really little? He used to be on his best behaviour all bloody year when he was small! He’d clean the flat, keep nice and quiet, and event go without supper so that his mum could eat what little food they had in the house. But then christmas day would come around, and there’d be noo presents to speak of. Not a single sign of the jolly fat man. No reindeer, noo half eaten cookies, and not even one of those lumps of coal they were always banging on about. And that was a shame, because they could have used the extra heating.

And then there was Rick. Rick, who was a right twat all year round. Snotty, pompous, rude and loud. He wasn’t beyond throwing tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way, didn’t much care for  _ anyone _ other than himself, and  _ yet _ . Every Christmas, without fail, he woke up to a  _ mountain _ of presents of all shapes and sizes. Where was the bloody logic in that?!

“Father Christmas won’t come if we’re awake, Vyvyan.” Rick sniffled and wiped his nose across his sleeve. His eyes were starting to droop again as he leaned against the drawing-room wall and clutched his hot chocolate to his chest. Vyvyan’s pale face was half-illuminated by the moonlight from the front windows, and half by the rainbow glow of the Christmas lights bouncing off the tree. And despite all the beatings, the teasings and the tauntings, Rick couldn’t help but look at the blond haired boy stomping across the carpet with a sense of pride and awe. This was his  _ friend _ . Even if Vyvyan denied it, and even if he insisted that he hated the stupid swotty git with every fibre of his being, Vyv  _ still _ spent more time with Rick than anybody else. Still went out of his way to see Rick, even when other options were available. Still came round to his house for tea after school, still made sure the other boys didn’t pick on him in the playground and - perhaps most significantly - was currently spending Christmas eve at his house. And whether Vyvyan admitted it or not, spending so much time with Rick had to  _ mean _ something. And Rick, for one, was really rather honoured to have someone as  _ cool _ as Vyvyan as his friend. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Not unless he suddenly acquired some sort of death wish, anyway. 

"Come on, come on.” Vyv muttered, his patience obviously wearing thin. 

“Vyvyan, i’m  _ bored _ .” Rick whined, “Can’t we play a game or something? What about charades? You love charades!”

“No I bloody well don’t!”

“ _ Vyvyan! _ ” Rick gasped, “You mustn’t swear! Not on Christmas!”

Vyvyan crouched down in front of Rick with a stern, deadpan expression, his eyes never leaving the smaller boy’s as he spoke.

“Arse. Hole.” He said, with deliberate emphasis on the filth, “Bast-ard. Stu-pid.  _ Crap _ . Bollocks. Christ.”

_ “Vyvyan! _ ” Rick clapped a hand over his mouth to silence the round of hysterical giggles that threatened to break loose. Vyv smiled fondly in spite of himself, (blame the spirit of Christmas, if you like. Vyvyan certainly did) and tweaked the younger boy’s nose to elicit another bout of giggles. He relented, gave up his pacing, and sat down under the tree to steal a few sips from Rick’s hot chocolate. He’d finished his  _ ages _ ago. 

“Perhaps father christmas leaves your presents somewhere else.” Rick offered.

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.” Rick sighed, “It was only a thought. Besides, I’ve told you a  _ thousand _ times, he doesn’t come when you’re awake! Everyone in the whole world would have seen him by now if he did.”

“Maybe no one’s ever stayed up this late. It’s just gone half eleven now, and your parents went to bed hours ago.” 

“How do you know? You can’t tell time!”

“Neither can you.”

“So how do you know, then?” Rick asked.

“I’ve been counting. Missus P said g’night at nine o’clock. Been counting the minutes ever since.”

“Oh.” Rick said, partly in awe of his friend’s neverending intelligence, “What time did you say it was?”

“Half eleven.” Vyv reached for Rick’s hot chocolate again, and Rick handed it over without hesitation.

“You can have it. Merry Christmas, Vyvyan.”

“S’not Christmas yet.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nah.”

“Oh.” Rick yawned again, “Well, still. Merry Christmas.” 

Vyv smiled and finished off the hot chocolate as Rick started to dose.

“Thanks.” He muttered, and in another gesture of uncharacteristic holiday charity, when Rick’s head came to rest on Vyvyan’s shoulder, he didn’t push him away. 

*

Rick was - by nature - an early riser, and Christmas morning was no exception. So Vyvyan was hardly surprised when Rick woke him up in the early hours of the morning with a childish squeal to reveal mountains upon mountains of presents stacked under the tree.

“I don’t  _ believe _ it!” Vyv got to his feet in a rage, resisting the urge to strike out at the tree and smash it to pieces. Someone - probably the fat bastard himself - had put a blanket over him and Rick, and put a pillow behind their heads. Vyv shook the blanket off in disgust and picked up his cricket bat with a scowl.

“I  _ told _ you he only comes when you’re asleep!” Rick said, for about the hundredth time. He yanked a present out from under the tree and tore the paper to reveal a rather fancy looking model train set. 

“Settle down, Ricky-poo.” Mrs Pratt cooed as she entered the drawing-room, “If you open them all now, you won’t have anything for after lunch!”

“Morning Missus P.” Vyv mumbled.

“Good morning, Vyvyan darling. Merry Christmas.”

“Any sign of Santa?” Mr Pratt asked as he came downstairs to join his family, and sat down in his favourite armchair opposite the tree.

“We must’ve missed him.” Rick replied, entirely unbothered by this turn of events, and rather preoccupied by all the presents.

“Yeah, well. It was Rick’s fault! He’s the one who fell asleep.”

“I did  _ not _ ! And anyway, even if I did, why didn’t  _ you _ catch him?!”

“...You must have put a sleeping potion in the hot chocolate.” Vyv’s eyes narrowed as he stood up and raised his cricket bat.

“I did not!” Rick stood up and came within range, because even at seven he was a stupid git who never knew when to back down from a fight.

“Did too!” Vyv gave Rick a hard shove with the business end of his bat, and the boy almost went sailing backwards into the tree. Normal parents might have been disturbed by the sudden act of violence towards their son, but Mr and Mrs Pratt really weren’t that bothered. Especially not when Mr Pratt at the morning paper to read, and Mrs Pratt was far too busy sorting out the presents under the tree to act as a referee to the two rowdy boys picking fights in her drawing-room.

“ _ Boys _ ,” She said, in a tone that was more fond than cautionary, “No roughhousing inside.”

“Sorry Missus P.” Vyv gave Rick one last shove with the cricket bat, then discarded it with a smug smile. He had it on good authority that he was Mrs Pratt’s favourite, no matter how much Rick tried to deny it. 

“Ah, well.” Mr Pratt said, still caught up on the Santa side of the conversation, “There’s always next year. And at least you’ve got your presents.”

“ _ I _ haven’t.” Vyv scowled, and Mr Pratt raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you?” He replied as Mrs Pratt took Vyvyan’s hand - a gesture that would have cost anybody else the use of their arm - and gently guided him over to the back of the tree, where there was an entire stack of presents with  _ his _ name on them.

“Wow!” Rick said as he tore open another present, “Father Christmas must’ve known you’d be here!  _ Told _ you.”

“Well, now that Father Christmas knows where to find you, I expect he’ll leave  _ all _ your presents here from now on.”

Vyvyan, however, was suspicious. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had intentionally set him up for a laugh, after all.

“...These are for me?” He asked. 

“Well, I don’t know of any other Vyvyan’s.” Mr Pratt replied, “Do  _ you _ know any other Vyvyan’s darling?”

“No, just the one.” Mrs Pratt smiled, “I suppose they  _ must _ be yours then, sweetheart.”

“Come on then, Vyv! Open them up! Open - hang on… I didn’t get any  _ less _ presents, did I? I mean, Vyvyan having presents didn’t mean that I got fewer, did it? Because if it did, I think that’s pretty blimmin’ unfair! I  _ live _ here, you know! I’m your  _ son _ !”

“Of course not, darling. Come along, Vyvyan. Why don’t you pick one out?”

It took a lot of coaxing to get Vyvyan to even go  _ near _ his presents, let alone open them. So much coaxing, in fact, that by the time he made the first tear in the paper, Rick had opened all his gifts and was bored with more than half of them. He watched Vyv unwrap his presents with an eager expression, uncharacteristically excited by the good fortune of himself (or perhaps in the hopes that Vyvyan wouldn’t  _ like _ any of his presents, and thus pass them on to Rick.)

And really, Vyvyan hadn’t been expecting very much. A few cheap bits of tat, perhaps. Token gifts for the poor boy down the road who scabbed food off them on Christmas. He certainly wasn’t expecting real, genuine presents, chosen with the utmost care. So imagine his surprise, then, when he ripped open package after package to find  _ proper _ ,  _ expensive _ gifts. Some were boring, of course - clothes, shoes, a toothbrush - and some either matched or were similar to Rick’s (another model train set, a green Christmas jumper to go with Rick’s red one) but others were entirely unique, picked out just for him. A toy gun and a tin sword, some hockey sticks and a puck, toy cars and some little green army men that were immediately shoved up Rick’s nose.  _ Brilliant _ . 

He thanked the Pratts for every single one, growing more and more sheepish with each gift unwrapped. And although they insisted it was all down to Father Christmas - not them - Vyvyan wasn’t convinced. After all, he’d spent seven consecutive Christmases at the same address, and the prick hadn’t bothered before, had he?

But the best gift by far was the cage.

Fully assembled, stuffed with hay and carefully cleaned, Vyvyan opened it up and squinted through the bars with interest.

“What is it?” Rick asked.

“...A  _ tiny _ jail cell…” Vyv replied, and immediately began to calculate whether or not he could stuff Rick inside of it. 

“Ah, I think it  _ might _ be a hamster cage, love.” Mrs Pratt replied. 

“...But I haven’t got a hamster.” Vyvyan said. 

“Haven’t you? This must be yours, then.” Mr Pratt reached behind his chair and brought out a shoebox, which Vyvyan took with a degree of hesitation. 

Inside, was a hamster - grey and fluffy and small. It sat in the palm of Vyvyan’s hand, snuffled, and promptly went to sleep.

“Every boy should have a pet,” Mr Pratt continued, “Richard has his pony, after all, and now you have your hamster.”

“Have you fed Prince Charles this morning, Ricky darling?” Mrs Pratt asked. Suddenly remembering that the poor thing existed, Rick tore out into the garden to give Prince Charles his morning carrot. Vyv was still speechless, staring at the tiny ball of fluff in his hands. He didn’t have the heart to tell the Pratts that he’d had a pet once before, and that his goldfish had met a rather unfortunate end when it got caught between his foot and the living room carpet. He seriously doubted he’d have much more luck with a hamster, even if it  _ was _ capable of breathing on land. 

“...Thank you.” Vyv mumbled. And truly, he meant it.

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Mrs Pratt leaned over and kissed his cheek, making him blush even more.

“Have you thought of a name yet, Vyvyan?”

Vyvyan frowned, deep in thought. “...Erm...Specialist Crime Directorate. SCD for short.”

“That’s a  _ stupid _ name for a hamster.” Rick scoffed. He’d returned to the drawing-room with grass stains on his knees, bits of straw in his hair, and a brand new bruise on his foot where Prince Charles had stomped on it. 

“Alright, I’ll change it then. Hello Prince Charles.”

“That’s not fair!” Rick whined, “I thought of that name first!”

“I’ll fight you for it.” Vyv offered as he placed SCD in his cage and picked up a brand new hockey stick. 

“Vyvyan, it’s  _ my _ name!”

“Is it? You never said, your majesty!”

“Oh, boys.” Mrs Pratt sighed, “Really, if you do  _ intend _ on making a mess, I really would prefer it if you went outside.”

“Course, Missus P.” Vyv replied as he raised the hockey stick high above his head and lunged at Rick, who had the good sense to take off running.

“Vyvyan no! Please no! It’s Christmas!” Rick squealed as he stumbled back out into the garden, “Mummy! Mummy help! Daddy! Do something!”

“Oh, those  _ boys _ .” Mrs Pratt sighed fondly as she started to tidy up the wrapping paper and ribbons, “It’s lovely that little Rickykins has a friend.”

“Quite right.” Mr Pratt agreed, though it was difficult to hear him over the sound of Rick’s terrified screams, “Vyvyan’s good for him, I daresay. All this fighting’s bound to toughen him up a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Rick’s mother replied, ignoring the way her son’s screams were promptly cut off by the sound of an earth-shattering crash and the unmistakable whir of a rusty chainsaw. 

*

“...Vyvyan?” Rick ventured, his voice far more hesitant than usual. They were sitting across from each other in the drawing-room - each with a few new cuts and bruises - and were busy combining their model train sets to create a small scale crash. Vyvyan looked up from the line of tracks he was assembling without much interest.

“What?”

“I did...erm...I did sort of get you something. For Christmas.”

“...What?”

“I...erm...oh...well...ah… look, here. Just have it, alright?” Rick fished a poorly wrapped present out from under the sofa and practically threw it at Vyvyan with an apologetic smile, his hands trembling with anticipation. Vyv grunted, embarrassed, and ripped off the paper in one swift movement.

“...What’s this?”

“It’s a  _ jacket _ , Vyvyan.  _ Obviously _ . Like all those rock stars wear on the telly. The man Robert Plant has one just like it.”

“What man?”

“The one I bought it off!”

“Right.” Vyvyan held the denim jacket up with a skeptical frown, “It’s a bit big.”

“Mummy says you should always buy clothes a few sizes too big so you’ll grow into them.” 

“Well yeah, but this is more than a  _ few _ , isn’t it?”

“...Erm...sorry.”

“S’alright. Um...ta, I spose. I didn’t get you anything, but.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I didn’t expect you to.”

They fell into silence again as Vyv slipped into the jacket with an awkward cough.

“Ah...This is great. Thanks, really.”

Rick smiled, “You’re welcome, Vyvyan. Merry Christmas.”

“Erm...D’you mind if I cut the sleeves off?”

“Do I mind if you  _ what _ ?!”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Probably more coming soon for these two :)


End file.
